


Hollow

by Megeara



Series: Widowhanzo Week [1]
Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternative Universe - Mentals, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, First Kiss, First Meetings, Implied/Referenced Brainwashing, Pre-Relationship, Protocol Silence, Souls, Widowhanzo Week
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-02
Updated: 2016-12-02
Packaged: 2018-09-03 19:37:36
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,130
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8727613
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Megeara/pseuds/Megeara
Summary: Hanzo fled his clan after the elders forced Protocol Silence on him, tearing the emotions out of him. To converse his sanity, he cut himself off the mental net, and hid in an unknown forest to repent.There is nothing up north that can disturb him, he thinks. Until one night, when the snow is thick in the air, someone seeks him out.





	

The fire crackles in the hearth, as Hanzo picks at the ashes, which flare up brightly for a moment before catching fire again. It’s heavily snowing outside, and his stash of wood is slowly running out. He will gather his weapons and wonder out to gather some after the storm calms down.

Setsuna bumps her muzzle against his open palm, nuzzling into it, before putting down her head on his lap for scratches. He pushes his fingers into the thick fur of the wolf, kneading the muscles and running his nails behind her ears. Just as Setsuna contentedly stretches out, Mitsuki comes up on his other side to rub his side against Hanzo’s. He lets him know with a low whine that he wants the same treatment, and promptly sprawls next to him.

Hanzo feels the numb ice of not feeling anything slowly thaw. The emptiness he feels inside may never be filled again with true emotions, let it be happiness, anger or fear, but the small connection he feels from the wolves through the mental net is something that will keep him sane for a while.

He remembers back to blood on his hands, of fear in someone else’s eyes, and words in his ears ringing as he feels _nothing, everything breaking down,_ to the hollow feeling which was freshly torn inside him, an empty hole he cannot crawl out of, and…

Mitsuki whips up her head. Her ears are perking up, and Setsuna quickly catches up with her as they both listen tense. Hanzo extends his mental senses, tapping his environment for souls aside from his own and the wolves'. His eyes shot open, and he jumps up from his seat as he grabs his bow, and puts on his hunter jacket.

He listens with both physical and mental ears, shushing the wolves’ growling as they come to stand next to him. The soul he saw in the mental net is heavily barricaded with wires and metal and has a sick green glow. The man is clearly a higher class mental, trained to hide his emotions, because Hanzo couldn’t catch his intentions.

Before he can clearly triangulate the soul’s position, someone is knocking on the door. Three quick raps, like bullets shot. Hanzo cocks his head, and decides to put a swift end to the stranger. He calls the wolves behind him. He wants to deal with this matter himself.

He busts the door open, and with the same momentum pulls the string of his bow to launch an arrow into the…

It’s a woman. Mistake, error, not acceptable. He curses himself for his inaccuracy, but it’s been years since he had human company.

She’s wearing a deer-hide jacket, it’s fur-rimmed hood covering most of her face. Despite this Hanzo can clearly see the unnatural purplish skin she has, coupled with eyes with the colour of molten gold. Her face is like a statue’s – unnaturally unmoving, not giving away anything she’s thinking.

Hanzo feels like he’s looking into a mirror.

She doesn’t seem surprised by the not so warm welcome.  “Are you the dragon, who doesn’t feel anything?” Her demeanor is calm, unflinching, despite the arrow inches from her face.

Hanzo tests his tongue with a click. It’s been a while since he said a word, and so the question comes out raspy if not hoarse. “Depends on who asks.”

She tilts her head to the side like a bird, then pulls her hood down, so that he can examine her properly. The strong wind picks up her black hair from the ponytail. “I was known as Amélie Lacroix once.” She says the name like it’s alien even on her own tongue. “Nowadays I’m just simply called the Widowmaker.”

Now that Hanzo looks, he detects a glint from a strapped on covered package on the woman’s back. With adept eyes he quickly guesses that it’s a sniper rifle. It really doesn’t make him change his mind about the shot.

“Give the weapon to me and state your purpose.”

She doesn’t object, moving slowly to pull the strap up herself and hold the weapon out for him. He nods towards the ground impatiently. He has no time for games. She carefully puts the rifle down in the thick snow as she starts. “I’ve heard some birds chirping. They said that there is a dragon lost in a forest unknown to man, cut away from the society that poisoned him and who can heal those who have the same fate.”

She speaks of tales, Hanzo wonders, but her eyes radiate cutting intelligence and cold calculation. The minute he lets loose of the arrow, she will lash out. He might overpower her in strength, but without the correct information, he wouldn’t assume that she is weak, and he can’t deny, she made him curious, a feeling he first doesn’t even recognize.

He takes a gambling decision. He kicks the weapon in the room to the far corner and steps aside to let her in. The arrow points to the floor as if it was disappointed with the lack of bloodshed. “Make one wrong move,” Hanzo warns, his voice deep, “and I guarantee, you will be the next meal of my wolves.” Setsuna and Mitsuki growl again, their hackles lifting up.

The Widow glances at them briefly, before her eyes wander up to Hanzo’s once again. She steps into the room with straight posture. Hanzo closes the door behind her. The room is dark again, fire extinct by the blast of air except for some cinder still sizzling with low light. It casts more shadows than clarity.

The woman sits down on a chair, and Hanzo gathers the rifle to lock it away. She watches his movements closely for a few seconds. “I need your help.” She doesn’t sound pleading, but her gloved hands rub against each other a few times, almost nervous. “I have connections. Whatever you want is yours.”

“I need people to leave me alone.” His brows run together, and Setsuna pushes into his prosthetic leg in a soothing manner. “If you decide to leave, I’ll have to kill you.”

He doesn’t know how she found him, but he will be damned to let him away with the knowledge of his hideout.

She considers this for a moment, then seemingly comes to a decision. “I was an unwilling participant of Project Silence.”

Hanzo goes rigid, the hollow feeling coming back to him rapidly. It’s freezing, so numb, and he stares at her with clenched teeth, nails biting into his palm.

She goes on. “I’ve been kidnapped by an organization and stripped of emotions to heighten my natural mental power. I’ve been trained to precision, to kill without hesitation.” She looks away, eyes trained on something not in this room. Her voice is a whisper. “I’ve killed my husband, and I don’t feel anything.”

Hanzo doesn’t say anything. He’s lost in his own past, the blood of his brother painting his sight red. He feels lightheaded, and he pulls on his connections with the wolves to keep his pathetic sanity intact.

“And then…” she continues, stops, and starts again. “And then I hear that there is a man who could escape the suffocating mental net, and who has powers beyond imagination, who can make maimed people stand on their own again, who can return emotions for everyone but himself…”

She trails off. Hanzo has his arms around himself, and both wolves support his suddenly weak knees. It’s been a while since he felt this alive, lungs constricting in his ribcage, heart racing with something he doesn’t recognize, _he doesn’t recognize…_

He takes a calming breath and looks at Amélie.“I’ll need you to strip away your barriers,” he says quietly. “It won’t work if you don’t trust me fully. I’ll have to go deep into your soul, and if you put up a resistance, I can put you in a coma.”

She bows her head, pausing for a second. “I understand.”

 

* * *

 

It’s second nature diving into other’s mind. He’s done it more times than he can count, fixing and patching up without anyone realizing it.

In his mental mind now he can see the connections, the mental net lighting up around him like the galaxy, every soul a star. He extends himself from his unbreakable barrier, one blue and gold tendril of his soul searching Amélie. He can see and feel the twin golden stars of the wolves, shining brightly behind the protection Hanzo built up for them. They are anxious, soul resonating in place with unease.

Hanzo slips forward and forward. There. Amélie’s soul is now open for him, a door neatly cut out for him to go in. He examines the green tendrils. They are alien, something he’s never seen before even between the victims of Project Silence. It’s venomous, green pushing down the natural violet glow of the woman’s soul. Hanzo gathers the tendrils in a ball, sucking out the substance, but it just keeps coming. There must be a source to it that keeps generating the sickness.

He adjusts and knits the holes Project Silence tore out, levels out the soul pulses, so it can vibrate in harmony, meanwhile he delves deeper. He ignores memories, old sensations which could drag him down, following the green.

It’s ugly. He could describe it more colourfully, but it comes down to this word. The black bulge is latched onto the outer core of the soul, pulsing out the green poison. It’s a wonderful work, really intricate how they knitted the virus into the soul’s blind spot without the victim’s detection. Hanzo has to be careful to only terminate the septic parts, less he risks hurting Amélie.

The work is slow and tedious. The poison has to go somewhere, so he pulls it into himself, and destroys it before it can reach his barrier, but it leaves him weaker. He can feel Amélie’s soul growing agitated as he patches her soul up.

The technology of Project Silence is destroyed, only some remaining in the wrong hands. Her captors might have lacked the technology, but wanted to make the wipe permanent, but without the right specialist (torturer, puppets, all of them), they had to use experimental treatment on her.

When he finally finishes with the work, the soul is shining its own light. It’s frail, pushed down for so long, but it will be magnificent, when it strengthens. Hanzo pulls out slowly, examining each patch to make sure everything is as it should be, before he pulls himself back to his core.

 

* * *

 

They come to with a gasp, both trembling from adrenaline. Hanzo’s nose is bleeding from exertion, the stable concentration he had to keep up for the time taking its toll on him. It’s a feeling Hanzo’s used to by now, but the woman has to take a few minutes to gather herself. She looks at him with something akin to expectation, and Hanzo doesn’t have delusions what she wants. She wants confirmation.

“I have to know,” she pants, and cups Hanzo’s neck hesitantly, asking for permission. At Hanzo’s nod, she moves forward.

The Widow kisses with sensual lips, feather-light touches which turn deeper as she cradles his neck with cold hands. The methodical movements are something that Hanzo recognizes in himself, techniques melded into perfection. Despite this, it lacks emotion and heat, and Hanzo tears himself away from it gently, the familiarity deepening the constant nothing filling his abdomen.

She lets him pull away, her radiant gold eyes examining him almost disappointedly.

„It didn’t work,” she says. Frustration creases her temples, and she tries again, more forcefully, as if just by that she could conjure up the missing emotions, _anything._ Hanzo breaks this up again, and she starts up, not paying attention to the snarling wolves. He can’t feel anything, but the woman’s voice…

She’s frustrated, he realizes. So desperate, that she can’t think _clearly_ and takes actions hastily, not caring about consequences and forgetting warnings.

“Amélie,” he calls. She bites back a “what”, and Hanzo has to stop himself from answering with the same tone. “How do you feel?”

She grabs a handful of her hair, biting her lips and she looks up, and her eyes _blaze._ “I feel…” She stops short, and her eyes go round with realization, hope and wonder. “I… I _feel._ How? It’s impossible.” Her voice breaks, and she cries and laughs at the same time, emotions overwhelming her to the point of near hysterics. She’s clutching her head, rocking back and force, and Hanzo moves, pulling her to his chest. He closes his eyes as he channels her emotions into a natural path, and shushes her, empty words falling from his lips into her hair.

“Shh, shh, it’s okay, I promise, I promise...”

**Author's Note:**

> This is my contribution, loves, I hope you like it. I know that my Amélie doesn't behave as in canon, but I like to give the characters a human edge, which meant that I somehow had to soften her. If this is too OOC for you, I'm sorry.
> 
> If you've read my other stuff in the fandom, you might have a guess that I like hidden meanings and symbolism. I chose the wolves' name specifically by the meaning of them:  
> Mitsuki (male) - Full Moon  
> Setsuna (female) - Calm Snow
> 
> I might come around and make a prequel to place the universe the story plays in. 
> 
> I thank all of ya, who take their time to write a comment or give me kudos. It means a lot to me. <3  
> Talk to me down the comments, on McHanzo discord (Starkanium #1181) or on tumblr (gameworm)


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